The Generation Game
by whodreamedit
Summary: Many years have passed since Harry, Hermione and Ron's days at Hogwarts. But just what does Hannah Howard have to do with all this? And why won't her mother talk about the past?
1. I dreamed a dream

I like to think of this fic as something a little more original than most HP fics out there. For a start, it isn't based directly…or even indirectly, around the main stream HP characters. It's not a fic set in the present, in Harry, Ron and Hermione's time at Hogwarts, neither is it set in Sirius, James and Lilly's time there. It is set in the future, with the next generation of little wizards and witches. A few little plot details have been switched and changed, but nothing that you can't work out from reading the fic, and so, onward!  
  
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Odd, sometimes even prophetic dreams were not uncommon for the occupants of number 10 Holly square.  
  
The small semi-detached house was occupied by a woman of about thirty-nine, and her sixteen year old daughter Hannah. They'd lived alone for as long as any of the neighbors could remember, though now and again speculation would arise as to weather there had ever been a Mr. Howard. It was presumed there must have been at one point, but it was certainly something neither Hannah nor her mother discussed, nor seemed too bothered by.  
  
Yes, the Howard's were the epitome of typical suburban family, aside from the dreams. All in all, though, they kept the dreams to themselves, finding it prudent not to share these strange experiences with anyone else.  
  
It was nothing out of the ordinary, that Hannah woke up one Wednesday morning in a cold sweat, panting heavily, watching the images of her latest dream fade within the recesses of her head.  
  
She swung her feet over the edge of her bed, and inspected her visage in the mirror. Pale face, slightly frizzy black hair, brown eyes. Nothing out of the ordinary.  
  
She dressed solemnly, still attempting to remember the finer points of her dream. For some reason, the details of her vision evaded her. This was unusual; usually Hannah remembered every dream she had as vividly as if it had been a movie playing infront of her eyes the moment she began to recount it. But not this time.  
  
She thundered down the stairs, skidding into the kitchen where her mother sat, reading the paper and drinking coffee. She lowered the paper slightly to regard her daughter for a moment.  
  
"Your hair needs brushing…"  
  
Hannah made a face, laughing very slightly, and began to busy herself with the toaster. Mrs. Howard smiled inwardly, and continued with her paper.  
  
A pleasant breakfast silence reigned.  
  
For about three minutes.  
  
A short sharp ring on the doorbell signified the end of any calm that might have continued in the small, brightly decorated kitchen.  
  
"What's the time…?" Said Hannah, standing with a half eaten piece of toast in her hand, suddenly no longer laughing.  
  
Mrs. Howard appeared to have lost her happy go lucky demeanor also. "Oh Hannah…I thought it was…the clock must be slow again…"  
  
The clock was indeed slow. The hands showed seven thirty.  
  
It wasn't seven thirty.  
  
With a fleeting peck on the cheek for her mother, Hannah zoomed out of the kitchen, dropping the toast into the waste paper basket in the hall. She gathered up her school bag, and rushed into the little entrance hall, flinging open the door.  
  
"About time too…"  
  
Her best friend Rachael stood on the doorstep, shivering with the cold. "You realise we're going to be late, thanks to you?"  
  
Hannah made an apologetic gesture, and shut the door quickly. "Sorry…must have overslept. The clocks are wrong again…"  
  
"The clocks are ALWAYS wrong at your house…" observed Rachael as they set off at a speedy pace down the street.  
  
"Not always…we get them fixed, but then a few days later they're back to permanently showing seven thirty…it's okay if its actually one in the afternoon, it's pretty obvious it's not seven thirty then…but if it's actually eight o'clock…well you can't really tell the difference."  
  
"Why seven thirty anyway?" Questioned Rachael curiously, her eyebrows raised. "I mean, doesn't it strike you as odd that they always show that time?"  
  
"Probably something to do with the weight in the hands…maybe they just sort of...fall there."  
  
"Yeah, whatever…"  
  
Having now reached the school gates, Rachael appeared less keen to talk about malfunctioning clocks. The two walked side by side into the playground, just as the bell rang.  
  
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All through the day Hannah was not her usual bubbly self. She even spaced out slightly in Maths, which (what with being her best subject) was cause for concern, as far as Rachael could tell.  
  
Hannah barely noticed her friends puzzled expressions and sidelong glances during class, however. She was too busy straining her mind to remember that dream. About lunch time she had come up with a few freeze-frames from the dream, but nothing coherent, sequential or even anything that made much sense.  
  
She remembered three things. An old, unconventional sort of building. More of a castle really. In flames.  
  
A body, still and silent on the ground.  
  
And a piercing green light that hurt her head even to think about it.  
  
Somehow, although she could gain nothing more of the previous nights vision, those three images would not leave her mind. They circled and circled round and round inside her head, giving her very little peace, and making her slightly cranky. Hannah disliked anything she couldn't explain. And she couldn't explain that.  
  
Finally, after a torturous day at school, Rachael walked home with Hannah, leaving her at the end of the road that led to her house.  
  
"Well seeya tomorrow Han…" Rachael cocked her head to one side, her copper hair blowing slightly in the wind. "And Han…"  
  
Hannah looked up. It was the first time she'd really noted what Rachael had said all day.  
  
"Take it easy okay? You look sort of preoccupied with something."  
  
Hannah nodded, smiled, and waved Rachael off. Of course, her friend was right, although Rachael wasn't aware of the finer details of what plagued her. Take it easy. Ignore it. Now she thought about it, it was silly to get so worked up about a dream anyway.  
  
She entered the house noisily, dumping her bag on the floor. Immediately she could tell something wasn't right. It was too quiet, too still…and too cold.  
  
"Mum…?"  
  
The word rang out around the little hallway, and was swallowed up, suffocated by the silence.  
  
"Mum…are you home?"  
  
She thought she heard something move in the kitchen, and crept quietly towards the door. Pressing her ear against it, she heard…nothing again.  
  
Hannah wasn't a scaredy cat by anyone's standards, but she did not want to enter that room. Instead, she made for the front door again. It didn't matter to her where her mother was anymore, a state of panic had taken over and all that mattered to her was getting out of the house.  
  
Just as she placed a thin pale hand on the door knob, it turned under her fingers. Gasping, she drew back against the wall, watching the knob jiggle and dance almost of its own accord, watched the door swing open.  
  
Almost involuntarily, Hannah screamed.  
  
The figure in the doorway screamed too, and dropped the bags it was holding. Bottles and cartons smashed and caved in. Eggs, milk and juice made a small multicolored lake on the tiled floor.  
  
Mrs. Howard stared at Hannah, open mouthed and speechless.  
  
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They sat on the plush lounge suite in the sitting room, both nursing cups of tea.  
  
It was a while before either spoke.  
  
"Mum…I'm sorry. I came home and…I got a bit spooked I guess. Your usually home when I get in from school…"  
  
"Groceries needed to be done…" Mrs. Howard gave a watery smile "Oh Hannah, I'm sorry for frightening you, but you have to understand, there was nothing to be scared about…"  
  
"The house sort of…felt funny."  
  
"How did it feel funny?" The expression on Hannah's mothers face became something more than just concerned parent. Deeper, as though the house 'feeling funny' was of great importance.  
  
Hannah immediately felt silly for even mentioning it. "Oh I don't know…just…funny. You know, it was colder than usual. And last night I-"  
  
She stopped herself. Dreams were something that Mrs. Howard was always quite loath to discuss in the first place, and besides, Hannah knew she was silly to even think that the dream had anything to do with her freaking out this afternoon.  
  
But Mrs. Howard refused to let it drop. "What about last night Hannah? Did something happen…?"  
  
But Hannah rose, taking her empty cup and saucer with her. "Don't worry about it Mum, it's nothing…"  
  
Quietly, she exited the room.  
  
Her mothers voice trailed after her, sounding tired, sorrowful. "I'm sorry that we don't have anyone to look after us Hannah. I'm sorry we're all on our own…"  
  
And that, thought Hannah, was the most random thing to say, given the circumstances. 


	2. Secrets in the Attic

Chapter two! Already? I hear you chorus. Well, err, yes.  
  
In this chapter, you might find out why I call this a Harry Potter fic, and not just some random original work. ^_^  
  
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The rest of the week passed fairly uneventfully. By the next morning, Mrs. Howard seemed to have come out of her melancholy state, and Hannah was feeling a lot better about her odd experiences of the day before. Obviously, it had been sun stroke…or…lack of sun stroke. Or some such thing. In any case, her logical brain told her it was nothing at all to be worried about.  
  
Still something was niggling away at her. What was it her mother had said? She was sorry they didn't have anyone to look after them…  
  
Hannah remembered some time ago, when she was very small, questioning her mother about her father. All the other kids, she remembered saying, had daddies, why didn't she have one?  
  
But her mother had always been very vague. Indeed it seemed Mrs. Howard's intent to convince her daughter she had been conceived without the need of a father. Almost as though he had never existed.  
  
But Hannah wondered.  
  
Being sixteen now, she knew it was not possible that she had never had a father. And the little emotional speel from her mother on Wednesday night indicated that this 'father' figure, whoever he was, wasn't just some random person off the street. It was someone her mother had cared about. Possibly someone she wished was still around.  
  
With this knowledge, Hannah became hungry for more details about her father. She knew better than to confront her mother on the subject. Question her mother on anything about the past and she became hazy, distant…sometimes even angry. It was almost like she was protecting something, a secret, a dream…  
  
"More dreams…more dreams and more secrets all the time…" muttered Hannah to herself as she finished off her breakfast one cold, but sunny, Sunday morning.  
  
Her mother bustled into the kitchen. She wore her coat and hat. It was evident she intended to go out.  
  
Turning to smile at Hannah, Mrs. Howard's bushy brown hair framed her face betraying the spirit of a young girl, almost captive inside the body of a woman. "I need to pop down to the nursing home for a little while today. Jackie dropped out of her shift so its me or Mildred, and we could do with the overtime…"  
  
Hannah nodded, giving her mother a half smile.  
  
"There's some pizza in the freezer that you can have for lunch, and I'll be home around five…"  
  
Hannah nodded again, still smiling.  
  
"If your worried about anything…" Mrs. Howard appeared to have just recalled Wednesday's incident "Give me a ri-"  
  
"Ring at the office, the numbers on the fridge. Mum, I know!" Giggled Hannah slightly. It was important to get her mother out of the house today. She had a plan.  
  
"Good then. I'll see you later." And with that Hannah's mother left the kitchen, in a second Hannah heard the door close behind her. The house was empty. She was free.  
  
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There were basically no areas of the Howard household Hannah hadn't explored at one point or another. When she was small she was into everything, and had messed up every item, in every room…or so she was lead to believe by her mothers nostalgic tales. But there was one place she'd failed to explore thoroughly, possibly ever.  
  
The attic.  
  
The reason for this was, that the attic had always been more of a punishment, than a thing of interest. Mrs. Howard's answer to the many "I'm bored!"s of Hannah's childhood, was "All right then, go and clean the attic."  
  
Suffice to say the thought of cleaning a dusty, pokey room at the top of a house was enough to quell even the most 'bored' of children's whingeings.  
  
And so the attic remained largely uncharted territory. In actual fact, Hannah had reason to believe the little hatch to the room above the house hadn't been opened for at least four years.  
  
It was possible it housed the answers to the very questions that had begun to eat away at Hannah's mind and soul.  
  
Preparation was in order. The first thing Hannah did, was call Rachael. Not only did she feel the need to apologize for her distance in the last week, but she needed someone with her to explore the attic. She wasn't scared as such, but she'd rather have someone to share the adventure with at any rate. She knew Rachael would be as curious about her father and her past as she was.  
  
"Paych it's Han…"  
  
"Heyyy! I was just about to call you! Freaky deaky huh? Listen did you want to do something today or what, because I am bored out of my-"  
  
"Just what I was about to ask you!" Hannah smiled. This was why Rachael was such a great friend.  
  
"Oh? You have something to relieve my boredom? Is it valium?"  
  
"No, it's attic-dom. I want you to come over and help me explore the attic!"  
  
"The attic?" On the other end of the phone, Rachael made a face. "I didn't know you even had an attic."  
  
"Well we do. And it hasn't been opened for at least four years…"  
  
Rachael made what she apparently considered 'ghostly' noises on the other end of the phone.  
  
"Oh shush! I'm serious! I thought maybe…" now that it came to it, Hannah didn't really feel like sharing her desire to find out about her past. "- maybe it might be fun. You know, find old photos and stuff…maybe my mum was a goth in her past life…"  
  
They both giggled.  
  
"Your mum? No way! Hee, okay I'll come over. Just let me get my coat. See ya in five. Byeee!"  
  
The phone rang off.  
  
The next step to preparation was getting the gear they would need for advanced attic exploration. Torches, feather dusters (for the cobwebs), and pesticide. Hannah couldn't stand cockroaches and spiders. They would perish, along with the cobwebs.  
  
Rachael arrived just as Hannah had finished comprising the little stash of supplies for the attic. She regarded the table, littered with 'exploration gear' skeptically.  
  
"You know Han…this isn't the arctic exploration…just the-"  
  
"Attic exploration!" Hannah giggled, her brown eyes twinkling "I know I know…but still it's a long way down that ladder again. We might as well take everything we need, instead of tiring out our poor muscles dashing up and down those steps."  
  
Rachael shrugged, and nodded picking up a torch and pink feather duster. "Okay then, what are we waiting for! Lets g-g-gooo!"  
  
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It took some work to even get the hatch to the attic to open. They found a pole with a hook on the end, and managed to finally exert enough force upon the same so as the door to the attic finally swung open. A ladder, make of coarse rope swung down from it.  
  
"…A rope ladder? You expect us to climb up into your roof via a rope ladder?"  
  
Hannah shrugged "Why not?". More bravely than she felt, she ascended the ladder, up into the bowls of the roof.  
  
Sighing melodramatically, Rachael followed her.  
  
When the two had drawn themselves up into the roof cavity, they couldn't see a thing. It was pitch black. It smelt like dead roses, and dust, and mothballs. Rachael coughed noisily.  
  
"Shh!" For some reason, the cough set Hannah on edge. This dark place was something like a tomb. It was sacred, in some way. Noise was inappropriate.  
  
Flicking the switch on her torch, she surveyed the area nervously.  
  
The attic was filled, from wall to wall, from ceiling to floor, with junk.  
  
You know the stuff. Collectively, its known as junk, especially by adults and tidy people in general, but individually its fascinating. Old trunks lined the dingy little room. Some were open, their contents spilling out onto the floor. Old photographs, pieces of cloth that might belong to clothes, or might simply be dusting rags. Books. Hundreds of them, with odd looking covers. Ancient. Vases and pots and lace and everything you could possibly want in an old attic. Hannah breathed it all in, a smile of elation spreading across her face.  
  
Rachael was silent beside her.  
  
A simple "Wow" escaped her lips.  
  
Hannah stood, ducking slightly to avoid the low hanging beams, and scooted across the dusty floor to one of the largest open chests. "Come on!" She said, the excitement in her voice filling the room with a sort of dull glow "Lets check this stuff out! Theres bound to be something interesting amongst all this…stuff!"  
  
Rachael was still relatively speechless. "I can't believe you had all this stuff up here and you never checked it out! This place is awesome!". Slowly, she approached another open chest in the far corner, and began riffling through the cloth inside it.  
  
Almost immediately she let out a giggle, and pulled something out of it. Hannah turned, to see Rachael holding up an odd black garment to herself.  
  
"What is THAT?" Hannah asked, trying to stifle a giggle and Rachael struggled to don the black swath of cloth.  
  
"I think it's a cloak…" answered Rachael, finally managing to dress herself in it, and going over to admire herself in a dusty mirror. "Very fetching." She added. "Though I wonder, was it customary in your mothers day to wear cloaks?"  
  
"Who knows what was customary in my mothers day." Shrugged Hannah "Maybe it was just something peculiar to my mother."  
  
She began searching through her own chest, which was more or less filled with books. She picked one out.  
  
"Gadding with Ghouls, by Gilderoy Lockhart…" she let out a hoot of laughter. "What a screwball name. What sort of parent names their kid "Gilderoy""  
  
Rachael snickered from the other side of the room. "Open it! Read some! I'd be fascinated to know how a book with such a lame title could possibly have been published…"  
  
Dutifully, Hannah opened it and read a passage.  
  
"…Naturally, this particular ghoul was difficult to defeat. The simplest charms and curses don't often work on a creature of such power and tricky ways. But your beloved author, ever devoted to the pursuit of good, and the defeat of evil has his ways. I find the simple curse, Banishus Spirito works a charm on even the most devilish of haunts…"  
  
"What the-?" Rachael turned and caught Hannah's eye. They both cracked up. Hannah threw the book back into the chest, and moved on to the chest next door to it. This one was closed, but Hannah felt sure it would be unlocked.  
  
"Get a load of this!" Rachael had pulled another garment out of her 'dress up' box, and had plonked it on her head. It was a large black pointed hat, the kind children wear at Halloween to depict 'witches'. "Did your mother ever attend many costume parties?"  
  
Hannah blinked, perplexed. "Wonder why mum would give house room to a thing like that?"  
  
"Well she hasn't really, has she? She's bunged it up here with all this other junk in the attic…"  
  
Hannah nodded, and flicked open the catch to the next chest. She was right, it was not locked.  
  
Opening it, she was met with a sudden burst of dust. She coughed, and dug her hand into the chest, pulling out an old photo album.  
  
"Photos!" She called, beckoning Rachael over with her free hand.  
  
"Yay!" Rachael bounded over, still wearing her witches hat and cloak. "Open it then!"  
  
Slowly, as if this particular task commanded a certain level of reverence, Hannah turned the leather cover of the old photo album. The first page was covered in writing.  
  
"This Album belongs to: Lilly and James Potter, their relatives and descendants…"  
  
Rachael shot Hannah a look. "Do you know them?"  
  
"Never heard of them before…" Hannah shrugged "Maybe mum knew them or something."  
  
"Even so, you'd think that them, and 'their relatives and descendants' would have wanted to keep their own photos…" Rachael grinned "Turn the page! I want to see what these Potter people looked like!"  
  
Somehow Hannah was even more nervous now of what she might find inside the photo album. The name 'Potter' had an odd resonance with her. She flicked to the next page.  
  
Four photos, all appeared to have been taken on the same day. Underneath, little messages had been penned in green ink.  
  
"Lilly and James on their wedding day…" read out Rachael, peering over Hannah's shoulder. They both smiled at the photo. Lilly and James looked like nice people, though how you could gather from one photograph was beyond Hannah.  
  
Then both girls got the fright of their life. The two figures in the photograph smiled back. Not only that, they waved at the girls.  
  
Hannah dropped the album as though she had been stung. "Did you see…?"  
  
Rachael nodded. "I thought maybe I was seeing things…but you saw it too? Saw them wave at us?"  
  
Hannah nodded. "Shall we…shall we keep looking?"  
  
Not wanting to seem less brave than her friend, Rachael nodded. "Yeah…maybe it was a trick of the light. Turn to the back of the album, see what's there."  
  
Hannah did so. She turned to the very back page. On it was one single, slightly yellowed photograph. Depicted in it was a man, shortish messy black hair, green eyes. Next to him stood a girl of about 22, with frizzy brown hair, brown eyes and slightly crooked teeth. They stood on the front steps of a house Hannah had never seen before, and yet they looked familiar. Standing between them was a small child, barely eighteen months old. It clutched the mans hand firmly, and smiled toothily out of the picture.  
  
As though on command, all three figures began to move. The man picked up the dark haired child, and hugged her, whilst the woman stared out of the picture, smiling directly at Hannah.  
  
And the green script underneath read:  
  
Harry and Hermione Potter, with their one year old daughter, Hannah. 


End file.
